Poor, poor Clint
by Cecily Plum
Summary: Clint is having a wonderful day. He's finished his first assignment since the attack, and is looking forward to spending the evening in luxury with the two people he loves. Shame his brain will never be the same again. One-shot. Captain Hill. Hinted BlackSnowBird.


**This happened. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.**

Today was a good day, Clint thought to himself as he strolled through Stark tower. Avengers tower, he mentally corrected himself. It was one year to the day since that Asgardian bastard showed up and infiltrated his mind. One year since the collapse of the base. Almost a year since they fought off an alien invasion in New York.

He had just finished a simple assignment in rural England, his first since the attack. A nice and quick grab of some intel on the leader of some country or other who was staying at Chequers with the British PM. He'd got in and out nice and quick, before dropping the intel off at the Hub to be sent over to the Triskelion for processing, and catching a Quinjet that was headed for the New York base.

He was on his way to his, Loki's and Natasha's suite, when he heard a strange noise coming from Steve's room, the only other person to have a room on this floor. It was a strange grunting and groaning. He could hear the captain groaning and his bed springs squeaking. For a split second, Clint considered that he might be with some one, but quickly dismissed it. Had it been anyone else, he would assumed that they had company and left them to "fondue", but not Steve. Not Super Grandpa, the Capsicle. Ah, Tony's hilarious nicknames. Clint scowled at the stray thought of LoTR that crossed him mind. Damn elf. Anyway, turning his attention back to the door, he got out his small set of lock-picks that he kept with him at all times.

Kneeling down, he opened up the strip of leather, and selected two of the tiny tools to insert into the lock, thankful of Steve insisting that he be given doors with plain, old-fashioned locks that had been common in Steve's neighbourhood as a child. If his door had been JARVIS controlled like every other door not in Steve's suite, then he would never have gotten in. He felt a sharp pain in left index finger when his distraction cause one of his tools to slip, spearing the finger near the quick. Re-inserting the tool, it didn't take longer for the lock to click, and the door spring open.

Pushing the door open, he prepared for a face off with whatever was attacking Steve, only to stop dead just inside the door. On the completely unmade bed - the duvet, blankets and pillows appeared to be scattered around the floor - was Steve, supposedly sweet, innocent Steve, half-sitting, leaning on his elbows and completely naked, lips-locked with a beautiful brunette as she, also completely nude, bounced up and down. When they broke apart, he recognised his long time friend Maria Hill, deputy director of SHIELD.

Taking the initiative, he backed out slowly into the corridor, shutting the door as quietly as he could, though he was fairly certain that nothing short of another alien invasion could disturb them. Maybe a platoon of Doombots, if they were really loud.

Shaking his head, he turned on his heel, trying to get the disturbing image of the Captain and the commander out of his head, he hasten till he got to his rooms, to join Loki and Tasha. Maybe they could help drive the image out of his head. He could always get Tony and Bruce to work on a brain bleach if not.

*several hours later*

Steve was lying on his bed, Maria in his arms. They had fetched one of e blankets from the floor and draped it across them.

"I think Clint came in," Maria mumbled from his chest.

"Then maybe he should learn to knock in future," he said, looking down at the beauty in his arms, "these are our rooms after all." Maria propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him.

"Your rooms. And I thought you didn't want anyone finding out about us?"

"Our rooms. And why would I want that?"

"Your rooms. And because, well, I'm hardly a suitable companion for the perfect Captain America."

"Our rooms. And Captain America doesn't care what other people think. He loves you Maria, all of you." She smiled, and settled her head down.

"Love you too." As she drifted off, she realised she didn't care either. They loved each other. To hell with what anyone else thought of it.


End file.
